


insert cliche song lyric about love

by hylianwitch



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Modern AU, its a bunch of drabbles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 23:37:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12692505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hylianwitch/pseuds/hylianwitch
Summary: a series of short (and i mean short) drabbles i wrote based off asks i got on tumblr a while back





	1. i

16\. “If you want, we could go together?” 

-

“Man, this  _sucks_.”

“What’s wrong?” Marco turned to look at his friend, his safety goggles perched on top of his head. He wasn’t surprised to see Jean with his head in his hand, doodling mindlessly on their paper. 

“Sasha’s stupid party is tonight.” He grumbled.

Marco laughed, turning back to the Bunsen burner in front of him. “You’re right! I forgot you’re horribly allergic to parties, and the only cure is to complain about them.”

Jean glared at Marco, aiming a kick to his shins under the desk. Marco grunted, his skin stinging with the force of Jean’s kick. 

“Don’t kick me when I’m handling fire, please.” He said, scooting his stool farther from his friend.

“Don’t be a smart ass then.” Jean said, his glare quickly giving way to a smile at the grimace on Marco’s face. “What I  _meant_ was,” Jean continued their earlier conversation. “It sucks because I don’t have anyone to go with.”

“I thought we were all going together?” 

“No,” Jean sighed. “I don’t have anyone to  _go_ with. It’s a valentine’s party.”

“Oh,” 

“Yeah.”

They were quiet for a moment, Marco’s fingers tapping against the table top. Jean went back to doodling, his steady breathing the only thing Marco could hear.

“Uh,” Marco started, chewing nervously on his lip. “If you want, we could go together?”

Jean looked at him, red flushing his skin. “As, like…?”

“Um, f-friends!” Marco said, his heart pounding. He was suddenly very nervous, and very much regretting his crush on his friend. “I-if you want, of course.”

Jean stared, eventually looking down at his paper. “Yeah, that’s fine.” He cleared his throat. “That’d be cool, I’d like that.” 

Marco smiled. “Cool, then it’s a date!” His smile fell as he realized what he said, his blush only getting darker. “I, uh, I mean-”

“Yeah, it’s a date.” Jean smiled back, his focus returning to his doodles.


	2. ii

22\. “Can I open my eyes yet?"

-

Sasha bit her lip, laughter trying to force it’s way from her throat. The calloused hands of her boyfriend stayed firm on her shoulders, leading them through their small apartment. 

When Connie had blindfolded her and locked her in their room when she got home, she expected… well, she didn’t know what she expected. She still didn’t know what to expect, but if her sense of smell was any indication, she assumed they were having dinner.

“Did you cook for me?” She asked, turning her face to Connie.

“Stop moving your head! And yes, I did.” Connie said, grunting when she stopped short. 

“What did you make? Was it pasta? I smell garlic, did you make garlic br-”

“You’ll see! Just keep movin’, will ya?” 

Sasha complied, letting Connie steer her through the narrow hallway.

“Can I open my eyes yet?”

“Not yet!” Connie turned her sharply around a corner. 

“I know where you’re taking me! We’ve lived in this apartment for a while now.” She said, reaching her arms out for the kitchen counter she knew would be there. 

“Okay, fine, open your eyes.” Connie huffed. Sasha’s eyes flew open and landed on the dining table, where a small meal of pasta and garlic bread had set up.

“Aha, I was right!” Sasha laughed, turning to her boyfriend. He had changed into a slightly less-wrinkly t-shirt, but the flannel over it had been ruined by a deep purple stain. “Hey, your shirt’s all gross-”

“I know, I know, just sit down!” Connie ushered her to the table, placing her firmly in the chair. He fished a lighter out of his pocket to light the single red candle by their food.

“Is everything okay, babe? You seem a little tense.” Sasha grabbed Connie’s hand when he sat next to her.

Connie smiled at her. “You know, I wore this shirt on our first date?”

“When I spilled the wine on you?” Sasha said, her nose scrunching up. “Why would you keep it?”

“Because that night was when I realized I was in love with you.” Connie laughed, kissing Sasha when she blushed. “And every day since then, I find more reasons to fall in love with you.”

“Don’t be such a sap,” Sasha joked, hiding her face behind her hand. 

“I’m not! I love the way you say my name, and the face you make when you first wake up, and how you leave messages on the bathroom mirror when I shower.” Connie moved his hand to rest on the breast pocket of his flannel. “I love when I come home and find you sleeping on the couch, and the way you get so into movies.”

Sasha only blushed harder. “Did you do all this just to shower me in compliments?”

“I can do that any day,” Connie said, grinning. “But tonight is special. I wanted to ask you something.”

Sasha’s heart thrummed in anticipation, her eyes falling on a little velvet box in Connie’s hands. 

“Oh, God-”

“Sasha Braus…” 

“Oh, my God.”

Connie opened the box. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” Sasha nearly yelled, throwing her arms around her boyfriend’s -  fiancé’s - shoulders. “Yes, yes, a million times yes!” She laughed, stray tears falling from her eyes.


	3. iii

rain storm

-

“Fuck,” Reiner mumbled, cranking the heat in his car to a maximum and ignoring the rain pounding on his windshield. Connie just  _had_ to break his car down today, of all days - he couldn’t have waited to run over a pothole at full speed on a sunny day, so Reiner could at least  _sit outside_ and wait for his friend. 

Whatever, now Connie just owed him. 

Reiner could barely see a foot in front of his car through the rain, but somewhere in the distance he thought he saw a blurry figure huddled underneath a tree, trying desperately to shield himself. Worried it was his friend, Reiner reached around himself and grabbed an umbrella off his backseat. 

He turned the engine off and hurried out of his car, opening the umbrella above him before he could get too wet. God, it was _pouring_. He walked as fast as he could to the figure, easier to make out as a person when they weren’t obscure by glass.

They were definitely too tall to be Connie, but Reiner still felt bad - standing all alone in this downpour with nothing but leaves to keep him dry. 

“Hey!” He had to shout to be heard over the rain. The tall figure - now slowly coming into focus - jumped a bit at Reiner’s voice, his hands coming up to his chest as if he were surrendering. 

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!” Reiner said, finally close enough to see the guy. He was tall, at least a head taller than the blond himself, with dark brown skin and some  _serious_ eyebags _._

“Oh, um, hi.” He said, wringing his hands in front of him. 

“I saw you from my car,” Reiner inched closer. “I thought you could use an umbrella.” 

The boy blushed, green eyes widening. Reiner felt a protest coming on, so he closed the gap between them and hid the guy from any further rain. 

“What’s your name?” Reiner asked, figuring they might as well get to know each other. “I’m Reiner.”

“Bertholdt.” The boy smushed against him said.

Reiner nodded, almost regretting his kind act when his free hand brushed against Bertholdt’s. He’d been single too long.

“So,” he started. “Are you waiting for anyone?”

“Yeah, my roommate.” Bertholdt said, gesturing to the parking lot. “She should be here soon, so you won’t have to wait long.”

“Oh, I’m fine with waiting.” Reiner smiled, inadvertently huddling closer to the taller boy for his warmth. 

They stood there for a few more minutes, the rain not letting up, exchanging pleasantries and awkward small talk. Reiner learned Bertholdt was a business major, and Bertholdt learned Reiner was taking time off school to work (really though, he just didn’t know what he wanted to do yet). 

Soon, a white sedan pulled up next to Reiner’s car. 

“Oh, that’s Annie.” Bertholdt adjusted the straps of his backpack on his shoulder. “Thanks for the umbrella, Reiner.”

“No problem, man.” Before Bertholdt could walk out into the rain, Reiner grabbed onto his shoulder. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

Bertholdt blushed - again. “Uh, maybe,” he scratched at his nose. “I’m at the campus library a lot, if you ever, uh, want to hang out.” 

“Alright, you’ll see me there.” Reiner said, and Bertholdt smiled at him before scuttling off to his roommates car. 

Reiner watched him throw open the passenger door, briefly saying something to the small blonde driver, before throwing another smile and wave his way. 

“Hey,” Reiner jumped at the voice next to his shoulder. Connie stood next to him, safely under his umbrella. “Was that Bertholdt?”

“Yeah, do you know him?” He motioned Connie to walk to his car. 

“I guess? He’s in my accounting class.” They shuffled into the car, the heat kicking on as the engine turned over.

“Cool,” Reiner said. “You know that favor you owe me?”


	4. iv

adopting a cat

-

“Jean,” Marco whimpered. “I want them all.” His face was pressed against the glass door that led to his dreams - dozens of cats scrambling over each other and meowing loud enough he could hear them loud and clear. 

“We can only afford one, babe.” Jean said, holding back a laugh. 

“Oh, but I like that one,” he pointed to a cat with mostly white fur. “And he has a sister, and we can’t separate them!”

Jean actually laughed this time, earning a glare from his boyfriend. “You have to pick one, Marco. Go inside and sit with the cats.”

Marco let out an excited noise - something between a gurgle and a laugh - before ripping the door open to the cat sanctuary. Jean watched him sink into the cat pile, sitting cross-legged as tons of cats walked over him and fought for his love. 

He could hear each meow, and every time Marco responded to the sounds as if he  _actually_  understood. 

The volunteer they spoke with earlier tapped Jean on the shoulder. “Having any trouble?” She said. 

“No, he’s just trying to convince me we should take them all home.”

She laughed, her blue eyes crinkling. “Well, whatever cat he picks will be lucky to go home with you two.”

Jean smiled at her. “Thanks, ah,” he glanced at her nametag. “Christa.”

“Babe!” Jean heard a muffled Marco behind the glass. “I found the one.” He left the room with a small black cat in his hands - not a kitten, but not an adult. 

“Oh, he’s a good choice.” Christa rubbed two of her fingers under the cats chin. She purred. “Her name is Salem. We rescued her on Halloween.” 

Marco cooed at the cat, pressing soft kisses into her head.

“What’s wrong with her eye?” Jean asked, taking special note of the cloudiness.

“Oh,” Christa’s voice faltered. “She’s blind in her right eye. Some idiot kids tried to do a ritual with her when we found her.” She sighed. “We understand if that mean’s you don’t want to adopt her.”

Marco held onto the cat. “Of course I want to adopt her.” He insisted. “Blind or not, I love her.” 

Jean smiled at his boyfriend. “She better not steal my spot on the bed.” 

The cat meowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> psa! adopt don't shop! disabled cats need your love too


	5. v

speech therapy

-

“Hey, Bertl!” 

Bertholdt turned to watch his friend barrel towards him, almost confident he’d knock them both over with his short frame. 

When Bertholdt still stood firmly on his feet, he smiled at the blond boy. “Hi, Reiner.”

“Wanna sit with me at lunch today? They’re serving pizza.” The blond bounced on his feet, anxious to get in line.

“Of course,” Bertholdt nearly whispered the last word, his tongue jutting between his teeth to form a  _th_  sound at the end. He had been getting better - going to the school provided speech therapy nearly every day helped, and he was almost speaking without a lisp, but sometimes when he wasn’t thinking he still let it show through. 

Bertholdt stood, stock still, mortified at his own mess up. A crimson blush rose over his skin, and he prayed none of his old bullies were within ear shot.

Reiner didn’t notice until he was halfway down the hall, when he turned to speak to his friend. “Bertl?” He shouted, panicking as only a third grader could. He spun in his spot until he found the tall boy frozen in front of his classroom, running to him with nothing but concern for his best friend. “Is everything okay?” 

Bertholdt was crying then. Hot tears ran down his face and fell onto his shirt, and Reiner panicked even more. 

“What’s wrong?! Are you hurt?” 

“N-no,” Bertholdt sobbed. “I just -” More  _th_ sounds. “F-forgot -”

“Bertl,” Reiner pulled his friend into a bone crushing hug. “You know I’ll protect you from anyone that makes fun of you, right?”

Bertholdt sniffled. “I know,” he mumbled against Reiner’s shoulder. He knew as long as Reiner stayed by his side, his bullies couldn’t touch him.

**

12 years later, and Bertholdt now had a full grasp on his lisp. It only ever showed when he was nervous, now (which happened more than he’d like).

12 years later, and he and Reiner were still best friends - only now they were in their 20s, he wondered if they could ever be something more. 

The two were sat in a small cafe, the brunet copying down notes and the blond studiously  _ignoring_ the notes. 

“Reiner,” Bertholdt eventually looked up from his scrawl. “If you aren’t studying, why am I even here?”

“I thought we were on a date,” Reiner said, flashing his friend the best innocent smile he could conjure. 

Bertholdt gaped, his face burning red. “Oh,” he said, suddenly desperate for something to do with his hands. “I- um, I’m gonna… Coffee.” He scrambled away from the blond, ignoring the deep rumbling chuckle from behind him.

He stood in line, holding his burning face in his hands. 

“Next!” The barista called, and Bertholdt did his best not to mumble his order, constantly wringing his hands at his waist. When his money was in the register, and his coffee safely tucked in a sleeve, he shot a “Thanks,” to the barista, but he froze when a  _th_ sound came out instead of an  _s_. 

The barista gave him a double take, probably just not hearing what he said, but as Bertholdt hurried back to his table, his mind ran wild.

Suddenly, he was in second grade again, staring down the faces of his bullies. 

“Hey, is everything okay?” Reiner sat up straighter when he saw Bertholdt gnawing on his lower lip. 

“Yeah, I’m fine” Bertholdt sank into his seat. “I just slipped up.” Another  _th_ sound, and more blushing.

Reiner nodded, glancing over at the barista that had served Bertholdt. “Want me to go punch him?”

Bertholdt laughed despite himself. “Yes,” he joked, every sound coming out as it should. 

“Nah,” Reiner took Bertholdt’s hand in his. “I’d rather stay here.”


	6. vi

a wedding

-

Jean couldn’t hold back his smile as he watched his best friends exchange their vows. Armin’s was, of course, poetic and intelligent and to the point - while Eren’s had been longer, baring his soul with every word devoted to their love.  He wished he could say he hadn’t cried at some point. 

Marco stood on the other side of the chapel, Armin’s best man, and let his tears fall freely. He had caught Jean’s eye more than once during the vows, and while they exchanged rings.

The only time they weren’t glancing at each other was the kiss. 

And then their best friends were officially married, walking off to spend the rest of their lives together. Jean and Marco fell into step with each other just behind the newly weds, following them out of the Church and onto the lawn, where a photographer waited on standby. 

“Hey! Catch!” 

Their attention was stolen when Armin’s voice cut clear through the excited chatter, grabbing the nearest bundle of flowers he could find. He turned from the crowd before hauling the bundle over his head, sending it soaring through the air, hordes of people scrambling to catch it. 

Without thinking, Jean reached out and caught the flowers as they fell toward him, resulting in a chorus of cheers and disappointed sighs. 

“Ooh, next we’ll be going to Jean’s wedding!” He heard Connie yell. Jean turned to look at Marco, expecting an embarrassed blush, but was met with a beautiful smile.

Maybe his wedding wouldn’t be that bad.


	7. vii

domesticity

-

“Marco, don’t you think you’re worrying a little too much?” Jean watched his husband endlessly fluffed the few pillows they had on the couch.

“Don’t you think you’re not worrying  _enough?_ ” Marco adjusted the educational magazines on the coffee table one more time. “Didn’t you wear that shirt yesterday, Jean? It’s dirty!” He moved to grab the hem of his husband’s shirt, but instead found his hand caught in Jean’s.

“Marco.”

The freckled man huffed. “Come on, Jean. The social worker will be here any minute, and I don’t want her seeing any reason to throw out our application -”

“Marco.” Jean said, a little firmer this time. “You’re panicking.” He moved his hand to rest on Marco’s shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into the muscles there. 

“I just… I’m so scared, Jean. What if she doesn’t like us?” Marco admitted.

“What’s not to like? We’re good people, we have stable jobs and a nice support group, and we love each other.” Jean smiled, tiptoeing until he was tall enough to steal a kiss. 

Marco laughed, soft and quiet, snaking his arms around Jean’s waist. “You’re going to make the best father.”


End file.
